Between Now and the End of Time
by Foul Fountain of Flies
Summary: For so many times, Jiraiya had asked Orochimaru to write his eulogy; and just as many times, Orochimaru had refused. Orochimaru’s POV. A one-shot friendship crap fic.


Between Now and the End of Time

Disclaimer: No matter how I want it, I can only stretch reality as far as to want to own the series. Kishimoto owns, period.

Summary: For so many times, Jiraiya had asked Orochimaru to write his eulogy; and just as many times, Orochimaru had refused. Orochimaru's POV. A one-shot friendship crap fic.

* * *

I could feel my eyebrows raising gradually in disbelief as he rephrased his request. I had the idea that my arguments to the contrary would bounce right off him, and he was now so set on it it was difficult to tell if he ever was a man of twenty-three. For the time being, he was merely a child on a joke trip.

"Why, of all people, should you ask me to do this, Jiraiya? We're not even—"

"What? Friends?" he snapped. For some reason he wasn't sold hard on the idea. "You might want to redefine your vocabulary a little, Oro-chan, because from how I see it you know me quite enough."

"Just how exactly do you understand 'enough'?" I shot back. We did conduct some needs analyses concerning our team's standing prior to this, rather occasionally, but I can't name a time when we put a step beyond the professional line of colleague-to-colleague discussion. Looking at him then, he was the one who seemed oblivious of this fact.

"What good is explaining to you? I'm asking you to do me a favor. It's actually pretty simple, can't be any harder than lifting a finger or something as a matter of fact."

"You're asking me to write your eulogy while, incidentally, there's no threat of you dying in the near foreseeable future?" I decided to take a hard line on it, "Ever heard of ridiculous?"

But he wasn't paying attention. A light bulb seemed to have lit up inside him then, causing a momentary explosion of the most unheard-of ideas. Like I said, ridiculous.

"Why don't we strike a bargain between you and me right here right now?" He declared, all else disregarded. For a split second I thought I saw his eyes twinkle. "Whoever dies first gets his eulogy written by the one that's left. That way both sides can benefit from the deal. Isn't it brilliant?"

"Not brilliant, definitely not by your standards. In any case, I was under the impression that bargains are supposed to present an equal chance at a favor to both parties."

"Yeah, that's why I thought of this." Nope, definitely not up to his usual standards. "So, is it a yes? There's no pressure; just do it anytime you feel up to it. Shall I write you in now?"

"Not until you answer my questions with logic."

"What questions? Do tell."

I took a deep breath. Before then, I had never quite caught myself red-handed with anything silly to say, ask, or do. "What if we die at the same time?"

He began prodding his head, readying to dive for a deep thought. "Then let each of us prepare a copy or some other immediately and ask someone else to keep it. Tsunade-chan is a good choice."

"What if Tsunade dies at the same time as us?"

"Ah…uhm, let's see… Oh yeah! There's the Third Hokage."

"What if the whole Konoha is wiped out clean and nobody's left?"

"You ask too many questions!" he snarled at me. Indeed, a child.

"Don't get on my case. I'm just considering certain possibilities, which, incidentally, may render this preposterous wish of yours quite out of the question."

"You don't have to cover up, Orochimaru; you just don't want your eulogy written by me."

"Wouldn't really dream of having mine sound like… what was that manuscript I found on you called? Icha-Icha Garden or something…?"

"Icha Icha Paradise. Don't mess up the title. And it's going to be a damn best-seller, mark me."

"Uh, refresh me, but aren't there conventions for writing different genres? As such, pornographic material is inappropriate for—"

"I'm NOT going to compose erotic scenes to honor your life! Geez!"

"Oh, did that get under your belt? I apologize for speaking out of turn, Jiraiya-kun. I just can't reconcile myself with the thought of a teammate dying anytime soon. As you already realized, the success rate of our missions is the one at stake in these issues."

"Fact is, when the gloss is gone, we'd all wind up dead." He said this in a tone that he normally used in casual conversations. And I cringed, not because he used the word so loosely, but because ever since I can recall I have always sought for ways, sanctioned by the law or otherwise, to immortalize a body. Hearing this fact shoved unto me so easily added gravity to the matter.

"Which is true in all senses, but why welcome it as a guest instead of trying to avoid it while we're on duty?"

"Because we don't get to stick our fingers crossed and have our wishes come true just like that. Some people don't want to die, but does that make them any less prone to death?"

"I wasn't talking about wishes." I glanced at him, seriously now. "I was referring to acting on things to prevent what could be mortal danger to oneself. Surely, as a nin, you're aware of this?"

"I'm just talking about life." He was defensive all of a sudden. "And what's on the cards."

"Is that so? I had long since begun to think that you were pressing death issues into the talk all this time."

"I was also talking about life, and what it's bound to be once the soul is leeched off of you." He sighed and to my despair followed it up with his signature pervert smile. "So, what have you decided to write about me then? Come on, mate, spew it out."

"Slow down. I haven't exactly agreed to the initial offer."

"Then why are we even having this argument?"

"To try to convince you the other way."

"Other way? What are you talking about, Oro-chan?"

"To go on living, as opposed to trying to get yourself killed so that someone would write something nice about you and read it aloud to the world."

"Ah… you don't get it, do you? I'm a shinobi—"

"So am I--"

"I risk my life at a high percentage of getting killed on a daily basis—"

"Same here, Jiraiya-kun. And as shinobi, we are taught on a far more frequent basis to protect ourselves so that we can offset any risk of dying, so that we can go on protecting our village."

"Cut the cackle. Are you going to insist on how different our views are all day?"

"Just for so long as we don't see eye to eye, which is actually obvious from the start. Conclusively, I shouldn't be the one writing your eulogy."

"Why do you have to be so selfish?!" Jiraiya wrung his long mane of white hair and walked out.

* * *

On another day as I was reviewing my team's performance in the previous recorded month, I found myself just as rudely interrupted. Jiraiya, all six feet of him, was standing in my door way, his crude silhouette cast on the shaft of light on the floor. Something told me right away that he wasn't there on a social call.

"I'm gonna ask you point blank: Why refuse to write my eulogy?" He demanded. As if he didn't already know my reasons. And they were good reasons.

"I can't find anything in you that can possibly merit a single praise."

"Try harder." he said firmly.

"I don't know how to write."

"Last time you said you don't want to think of one of your teammates dying: now you don't know how to write. Which is it, really?"

"Like I said, I have no formal training in writing. Don't take it out on me." At that time I had no greater goal than to cut him off and chuck him out of my apartment. Anything for a reprieve.

"I didn't drop in to soften things out, that's for sure. At any rate, I actually liked the other one better. It sounds far more profound."

"It didn't work on you; naturally I had to take it up a peg and think of something else to discourage you and your hocus pocus. Anyway, why don't you just go concentrate on your training while you have free time?"

"That's not something I want to hear from a geek like you who slouches here all day, hunched up on a pile of books. Besides, if you would just put your excuses to good use you might actually find a good one to write my eulogy."

"And what am I supposed to say? That you were on a suicidal trip all throughout your whole sorry existence?"

"Say whatever that suits you. Would it really matter to someone already dead by then?"

"What? I'm not sure if I follow you, Jiraiya-kun. I thought you want a good eulogy that's why you came running to me?"

"Aha! So you CAN write a good eulogy."

"That's not what I meant."

"That's exactly what you meant! This is great, Oro-chan. Then it's settled."

"It's far from settled. Will you rest your mind a little and stop obsessing over dropping dead?"

"Obsessing? I am most definitely not. How could you even think of me that way? I live to protect this village. There are lives I carry on my shoulder--" He said, his eyes all ablaze.

"Are you retracting on your previous statement? You just made it clear the other day that you can die with or without having the obligation to protect Konoha. Don't start contradicting yourself now, Jiraiya-kun." Somehow, I caught myself wanting to stay on in the argument. What forced me, only my most abstract thoughts could have told.

"I meant that it's going to be hard to find a replacement for me."

"If I remember correctly, that was my point."

"Well, whatever! You can jot that down on your draft. You can say that I'm a good find for this village and nobody can entirely take my place. It wouldn't hurt."

"Too leading. Anyway, I don't really know about all that, but you've been sounding like you're going to be dead in a few days. Otherwise, why are you pestering me to proceed with such a…" Death, talking and thinking about it alone, used to send me down to my knees with nervousness. "…such an inconceivable thing. Is it that urgent? Are you going to die tomorrow or the day after that? Illuminate me."

"I was thinking that writing a eulogy can be a process, you know; undergoing several revisions and editions. That could take years, actually. Hell, even genius authors take decades to write decent pieces."

"I'm not an author, let alone someone who wants to write about death."

"Budge in, will you? You don't have to know a lot about death to come up with a good one. You just have to know your subject well."

"I don't know you well." I retorted. I must have seen his face fall then.

"That's a low blow. Why not start researching stuff about me?"

"Don't drag me into this juvenile caprice of yours. It's not like I don't have my hands full already."

"Then cut down on sleep and work on it." he winked at me like he didn't just cross the line.

"Just who are you to—"

I was all of a sudden punctuated by a soft thud. A mission assignment, to be operated on at the double, was then broken to both of us by way of a paper plane. Although this wasn't the ideal manner in which conversations are chopped off, I was thankful to be rid of it by any means necessary. Jiraiya, as I imagined him then, was a man who took death by the horns. There was neither fear nor courage in his eyes; just plain and made-up acceptance. He had given death the similar treatment he'd given life. To him, they were complementary: a compulsory condition to one another.

"Looks like you've been saved by the bell this time, Oro-chan. Don't get too comfy though; I'll drop by again to check on your progress."

"There won't be next time."

* * *

"So have you listed down my qualities that are worth mentioning after—"

"After what? After you kicked the bucket? No." I replied. We were camping on the outskirts of Konoha to await the arrival of another squad that had been sent after a horde of fugitives to the west. Tsunade was asleep in her own tent, possibly high on dreams of bets and gambles. Jiraiya was next to me, watching the stars, and he showed no signs drowsiness. Men who have nothing to fear can watch the stars die out the entire night and find the spectacle beautiful.

"Still feeling like you're stuck on the short end of the bargain, Oro-chan? Boy, aren't you some tough job of persuasion."

I ignored his comment. "Sometimes I get the feeling that you're self-obsessed. But what puzzles me is our intimacy with the thought of dying. Is that an idiosyncrasy of your self-love?"

"See? You're actually doing well!"

"What?"

"You just gave an interesting profile of me. Why not write that self-obsessed schizo thing down, tweak it a little more eloquently, and include it in the draft?"

"In the first place, I haven't made a draft. In the second place, you're supposed to say positive things about the person you're writing on."

"I'm not a fan of flattery."

"Neither am I."

"Well then, you might like the one I made for you."

"You made me a eulogy?" In one hair-raising moment, I heard myself enforcing the idea of such a horrible thing happening to me. Was it ever possible in this world or in the next? Death. What does it ever take to square up to it and be cleansed of all fears? "Thanks for the effort but I don't feel like dying as of yet."

"Relax. I'm not going to give away any clues. It's supposed to be a surprise." He smirked. The death of me sure would be a surprise.

I stood up, not wanting to take any more part of the exchange. There was something even blacker than the shadows of that night, something even the light of the stars couldn't quench, and it was inside of me. It writhed and it begged to be wrenched out and it wanted… it wanted to live forever. Soon, it was going to eat me up. It was barely allowing me to stand steadily.

"Jiraiya," I spoke after a while. "Is there anything that lasts forever?"

"Memories."

"Memories only stay around for so long as they're remembered." I muttered.

"They are remembered all throughout a lifetime." He smiled then. Even in the dark, his smile shone through. "What makes forever greater than a lifetime lived?"

I shivered a little despite my trained endurance against the cold. Words that target the emotions and the mind are the words that are hardest to process. Yet, Jiraiya made them come out of him as though they were the only words he could say. Among many other things, he was a man with such unforgettable words.

Up above and far beyond, the stars flickered; others faintly, others brightly, and others more brightly yet. They hung on the deep purple canvas of the sky, living, fending for themselves and the space they had to keep. Legends say that when stars die out, they get pitched into an enormous void that functions like a vacuum. They call it the Black Hole, where everything that has a name vanishes in. But looking at those shining dots in the sky, I was forced to ask myself what could possibly kill those things… but what I really wanted and at the same time dreaded to know was what could possibly kill me.

And yet maybe, like the Black Hole to those stars, death was the place where my mind should never set on.

* * *

There are things that have to be torn apart in order to be made whole. A mother has to be cut up to give birth to a child, and feel complete afterward. Lives have to be ruined for a war to be won. And friendships have to be broken in pieces for their meaning to be known. Jiraiya, who had no fair grasp of the way of the world, who was idealistic, was never scared to die. In lieu of that, he was scared that he would never get to know his friends well enough to live for them and that they would never get to know him well enough to live for him. To his credit, he didn't really want to die, not after this childish fantasy had come to be fulfilled. He chose to go about it with me through the subject of death, something I was too weak to go against. He set up the challenge to write the stupid eulogy in order to find an excuse for me to know more about himself. I doubt if he didn't already know so much about me. I wouldn't put stalking past him, to be honest.

"Why do it now? Why?... After all that, and you… How…?"

"All that was just a leverage for my greater goals."

"Greater goals? Surely you should speak, because you have to explain this to me. What could be greater than this?"

"A number of things you were never high-minded enough to associate your understanding with. You have always been that type who would rather face the firing squad than the truth."

"What truth? I am not afraid of anything."

"Exactly." I sneered. Jiraiya would rather die than to admit that lives can be experimented with. This was the truth he would never own up to.

"Orochimaru, this is—"

"This is farewell, Jiraiya-kun."

"Orochimaru!!!"

Jiraiya would call after me until he shouted himself coarse, until, I suppose, he had no voice left with which to express his despair. It would take years to mop up that bleeding heart, long after that little acre of heaven he knew had shattered, its pieces broken apart until the day we meet again. And while I had embraced the one water he couldn't take a dip in, he chose the other, more heroic path. As all heroes are, nothing awaits him but death.

Whereas I... I chose immortality, never to re-emerge until the day I found the one body worth living in.

I have asked myself many times what I would have written about Jiraiya if I actually had it in me to show even the sharpest edges of my affection. I suppose at this point words are useless, and they had always been useless where he and I were concerned. If feelings were felt in the same way words are spoken, wouldn't this world be an easy and all at once a disgusting world to live in? I go back to when he and I had touched on the subject of immortality, there under the black dome of stars, and saw many things I wasn't able to back then. There are, after all, questions that cannot be given answers overnight. Sometimes, one has to wait a lifetime.

What would I have written about him if things had gone differently? The answer is nothing. For a lifetime of memories, even all these words can never be enough.

END


End file.
